Transmigration To Magus World-Chapter 99: Presenting the Sword When Meeting a Swordsman

Chapter 99: Chapter 99: Presenting the Sword When Meeting a Swordsman

Aizen rarely does anything without profit, nor does he seek trouble without reason.

This time was no different. If not for the deliberate provocation of Marques youth, Aizen wouldn’t have retaliated so viciously. Though ruthless, Aizen has principles. But once the other side pushed him to act, he had no choice.

Following his personal code, Aizen won’t back down unless there’s a life-threatening situation or a compelling reason to compromise. Since neither the old steward nor anyone else posed a true threat to his life, he struck decisively, refusing to submit.

Hurting someone inevitably invites others to seek retribution.

This, however, suited Aizen perfectly.

With his strength greatly increased, he needed a sharpening stone to refine his skills. While this might seem a dangerous opportunity, Aizen viewed it as beneficial—a chance to gain a sparring partner for free.

Even if he couldn’t defeat Marques, Aizen was confident that Morning Star Magus wouldn’t allow him to be killed. And in the worst-case scenario, he had prepared a retreat.

Before taking any action, Aizen always carefully analyzed the risks and rewards, ensuring he stood to benefit and maintain an advantage.

The evening wind carried the subtle fragrance of osmanthus blossoms, drifting through the garden, brushing past everyone present.

Dark fragrances waft beneath the yellow dusk.

This garden featured a vast open space, chosen as the site for Aizen and Marques’s duel.

"Present the sword when meeting a swordsman. If you’re not a poet, don’t critique poetry."

In the Magus world, resolving disputes often comes down to one thing: a fight.

Aizen had no guarantee of victory.

Every battle is filled with unpredictability, especially against an opponent like Marques, a formidable Magus artist who had reached the peak of the acquired realm, begun refining his internal organs, and was opening his meridians.

"You shouldn’t have injured him. Today, you’ll pay a price in blood for what you’ve done," Marques said, his voice calm but intended to unsettle Aizen’s focus.

Aizen smirked mockingly. "So, it’s fine for him to injure me, but I’m not allowed to retaliate?"

"That’s right. Hurting him means you’re forcing me to take action. Do you think you’re my match? Have you not heard of my name, Marques?"

Marques’s voice grew colder, as sharp as a sword grazing one’s throat, suffocating in its intensity.

He was domineering, and with good reason. His reputation among the younger generation rivaled that of Ryven, another renowned Sorcery artist.

"Reputations are given by others—and can just as easily be taken away. Perhaps today I’ll strip you of yours," Aizen replied, cradling his blade, a cold smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Arrogance. You’re courting death!" Marques snapped.

"Brother Marques, don’t waste time with him. Break his limbs first!" one of the officials’ sons shouted.

A chorus of anger followed, with even the women glaring coldly at Aizen. Among them, the Feng-surnamed woman sneered and shook her head, scoffing at Aizen’s supposed overconfidence.

"Reckless fool!"

Faced with Aizen’s nonchalant demeanor, Marques’s killing intent deepened. He spat out four words: "You don’t know your place!" 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

As soon as the words left his mouth, his gaze sharpened like needles.

With a sudden stomp, the ground trembled under his step. Yet, instead of charging directly,Marques advanced methodically, moving one step at a time with the precision of the Dragon-Tiger Stance

The atmosphere grew heavier with every step Marques took.

Each movement felt like a tiger prowling through the forest, his presence growing more imposing. The wind seemed to gather around him, lifting his hair as if drawn to his strength.

He embodied the phrase "the tiger brings the wind." As he closed within ten steps of Aizen, his footing shifted, and in a fluid motion, he darted forward like a fish leaping through a dragon’s gate.

This was the Fish Leap Over the Dragon Gate footwork, and as his step landed, his sword left its sheath.

A flash of brilliance, sharp as autumn wind, rent the air, and the scent of osmanthus flowers lingered faintly.

The thrust came from an impossible angle, aimed directly at Aizen’s Spirit Gate Acupoint at the center of his navel.

This strike was lethal. If it landed, it would damage intercostal nerves, disrupt the intestines and bladder, and sap the target’s strength, rendering their body immobile.

The speed and precision were astonishing, the technique honed through at least five or six years of dedicated swordsmanship. It was clear that Marques intended to cripple Aizen with this attack. Even if Aizen managed to block it, more insidious techniques were poised to follow.

Aizen’s eyes sharpened. His hand had rested on his blade all this time, and as Marques thrust, Aizen’s blade left its sheath.

A flash of cold steel—a deceptively slow, but lightning-fast move—resembled a winter gale slicing through snow or an eagle’s talons raking the air. His blade shot toward Marques’s sword hand, aiming to disarm.

The Rip Strike, as it was called, was precise and subtle. Jiang Cheng’s mastery of the blade, combined with his natural talent, made the move flawless.

The meaning was clear: if Marques Insisted on fighting to the death, he would have to forfeit his sword hand.

The surrounding onlookers held their breath, cold sweat forming on their palms as they recognized the deadly precision of Aizen’s counterattack.

"Well done," Miles exclaimed, his eyes lighting up in admiration.

But Marques’s response was equally ruthless. His eyes grew cold, his wrist twisting like a serpent, and his body shifted with the agility of a monkey leaping through the trees. Not only did he evade Aizen’s strike, but he also closed the distance in a burst of speed, his sword now aimed at Aizen’s face.

The chilling blade closed in, and if it struck, it would be a fatal blow.

Despite his refined appearance, Marques fought like a demon, each move lethal and venomous.

The fight had escalated into a true life-and-death struggle within moments.

Such duels rarely lasted long; the mental strain of such intense combat was too much for most fighters below the innate Stage. Victory would go to whoever’s willpower remained unbroken.

Even in this harrowing exchange, Aizen demonstrated his iron will. Faced with a sword rushing toward his face, an ordinary person would have frozen, eyes shut, legs trembling, their mind momentarily paralyzed.

Instead, Aizen’s eyes flared wide in defiance.

In an instant, he pivoted on his toes, shifting half a step back while tucking his neck and shrinking his frame as though retracting into a turtle shell. His legs bent, and his entire body appeared to shrink by a full head’s height.

A sharp crack echoed as his bones flexed—not from breaking, but from Jiang Cheng’s mastery of bone refinement, allowing him to contort his body with astonishing precision. Techniques like this were second nature to him.

His evasive maneuver allowed the sword to graze the top of his head.

Before Marques could follow through, Aizen spun like a turtle retreating into its shell, his blade sweeping in an arc toward Marques’s body.

The move was seamless: shrink, evade, reposition, counterattack.

The flash of his blade radiated five feet of sharp energy, cutting through the air with deadly precision. The razor-sharp arc sliced through Marques’s robes, the fabric shredding under the strike.

This high-speed exchange, filled with lethal intent and flawless technique, had brought the two fighters to the brink of life and death in mere moments. Both combatants pushed themselves to their limits, their next moves promising an even deadlier conclusion.